


Snake Fic

by sleepypercy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crack, Dean is the prettiest snake, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Greek gods, My only Gen, Sam needs to be climbed like a tree, Tea Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypercy/pseuds/sleepypercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dean’s not sure how he got here, but he’s definitely not happy about it. He’s got a fuckin’ doll-sized cowboy hat on his head and one of those tiny, delicate china tea cups that little old ladies with blue hair drink from set in front of him. Sam’s sitting across the table, steeping some mixture of herbs in the matching china tea pot.<br/>“You know,” Sam says, only slightly less slurred than he’d been fifteen minutes ago. “You make a real pretty snake. Like, I never knew snakes could be this pretty before, but you have the nicest, shiniest scales, Dean." </i>
</p><p>OR: Dean turns into a snake and climbs Sam like a tree. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snake Fic

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while ago and am just finally archiving this on AO3! Also, lots of love to ephermeralk for prompting me to write this after our discussion on my love for snakes in hats <3

“Sssam. Pssssst. Sssam. Wakey-wakey.”  
  
Sam’s nose scrunches as he feels something flick the end of it, a soft, slightly wet touch that has him stirring awake to find a very serious set of reptilian eyes staring him down, a black tongue flickering in and out in agitation.  
  
After a few blinks to let his brain process the scaled head just inches from his face, he lets out a garbled shout, throwing himself out of bed and shoving aside the comforter so that it – and the snake that had been on top of it – all tumble to the floor.  
  
“Dean!” Sam yells, rushing over to the doorway. “DEAN!” He doesn’t dare leave the room in case the snake decides to slither into the hallway and find its way into the bunker’s vents or walls or, god forbid, the _plumbing_. He shudders as he thinks about waking up in the middle of the night to piss and having to check the toilet for _snakes_.  
  
He’s just about to yell for his brother again when he hears an irritated and slightly muffled voice say, “Ow! _Fuck_ , Sssam. What the hell?!”  
  
Pulse still pounding unsteadily, Sam freezes, eyes darting down to the floor at the tangle of blankets writhing around, the creature trapped and obviously trying to find a way out. _No_ , he thinks. _No fucking way_.  
  
After a few minutes, a bright green head finally manages to poke its way out of the constraining cloth, looking as offended as possible for a snake to look as it rolls the rest of its body out of the blankets. At full length, it’s probably about four feet long, although it immediately folds up most of its body into switchback turns, its head rising a foot off the ground to glare at Sam.  
  
“D-dean?” Sam asks tentatively, feeling ridiculous and stupid because there’s no possible way that his brother’s actually a snake right now.  
  
But then it opens its mouth while large eyes pin Sam with a very human-like withering stare and answers, “What!? You gonna throw me around sssome more?”  
  
Sam jumps. “Holy shit, Dean! You’re a snake.”  
  
“No ssshit Sssherlock,” the snake – er, _Dean_ – answers dryly. “Woke up thisss way. Do you think you can ssstop freaking out long enough to put that oversssized brain of yoursss to work on how to fixxx it?”  
  
“Uhh…” Sam squints down at his brother for a moment, at the irridescent green scales and the large slitted eyes and the black forked tongue that darts out every other second to taste the air. Then he shakes his head and sighs. He supposes Dean’s had worse. “Have you, um, pissed off any witches lately?”  
  
“Hell no,” Dean answers immediately, scales puffing up in affronted offense. “I haven’t been _near_ any ssskeevy ssshe-devils.” Body sliding across the floor, Dean whips closer to Sam until he’s just under his feet, head lifted up to stare at Sam from knee-height. “Ssso you gonna get crackin’ with the resssearch or what? I kinda missss having armsss and legsss. Life asss an oversssized licoriccce whip isssn’t all it’sss cracked up to be.”  
  
Sam huffs out a small laugh and curbs the compulsion to reach down and pet Dean’s bright emerald head. It would figure that, even as a snake, Dean’s still the prettiest snake Sam’s ever seen. He wonders if he should mention to Dean that he’s got freckles scattered across his nose.  
  
*&*  
  
Hours later, Sam’s got nothing, and Dean’s bored. He’s taken to zooming across the various floors of the bunker, testing out his serpentine reflexes and trying to climb every piece of furniture. He nips at Sam’s shoes once, irritated to find that he doesn’t even have any fangs, only a set of small teeth that barely puncture his brother’s boots. Sam attempts to shoo him away, but Dean’s done with furniture and decides to climb Sam instead, winding around his legs and up his torso until he makes it to Sam’s shoulders despite his brother doing everything he can to pry him off.  
  
“Dammit, Dean, I’m not a tree!” Sam says exasperatedly while Dean smugly winds himself around Sam’s neck.  
  
“You sssure look like one to me,” Dean answers, head bobbing over Sam’s shoulder so he can peer at the computer. “Biggessst damn tree in the entire bunker. Come on, Sssammy! Find anything yet?”  
  
“I found out your species,” Sam says, pleased with that small victory at least, clicking through a few tabs. “You’re a green tree python. Although there’s nothing in particular that I found that would just turn you into a snake without some kind of contact or curse. You didn’t react at all to any of the tests we did, so no demonic activity or blood spells as far as I can tell. Honestly, I’m thinking this might be the work of a god – probably one of the ones we came up against last week.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean says thoughtfully. He bobs a little, rolling his body and moving his head to Sam’s other shoulder. “Thossse Greek-typesss weren’t exactly friendly. Which one’re you placing your betsss on?”  
  
“My money’s on Artemis,” Sam answers, turning his head to look at his brother. Up this close, he can see every scale, vivid and glossy with blue and white markings, and he holds his hand up, glancing at Dean for permission. When Dean gives what looks like the snake-equivalent of a shrug, Sam runs a finger across the back scales and around the soft underside of Dean’s body. It’s a lot dryer and warmer than he was expecting.  
  
“Why’sss that?” Dean prompts after a few impatient seconds, his long, thin tongue tickling Sam’s cheek.  
  
“One of her sacred animals happens to be the snake,” Sam answers, brushing at the skin where Dean’s tongue had just flicked. “And we did kinda contribute to the death of her former lover.”  
  
“Ssso what’sss the plan then?” Dean asks. “Sssummon the bitch back?”  
  
Sam shakes his head. “No, she’d kill us on sight. Turning you into a snake was probably her way of going easy on you. I was thinking we’d try someone else. Maybe appeal to some of that sibling rivalry between the gods.”  
  
It’s not a solid plan, and Dean, of course, wants to go with. But Sam refuses to reveal how he intends to negotiate with a god or which one he even plans to try to summon, and he carefully spends another hour going through the storage rooms to find the necessary items for the spell. Thankfully, they’ve still got some things left over from the last time.  
  
  
*&*  
  
Sam manages to sneak out when Dean’s busy trying to figure out how to climb the monstrous telescope in the back curtained room. Some internal, rainforest-climbing instinct has filled him with the urge to wind around limbs and branches and find the highest perch, and Dean’s determined to figure out the best place for his snake-self.  
  
It’s hours before Sam comes back, and when he does, he comes stumbling in blind drunk. Dean can smell Sam before he’s even fully in the bunker, tongue flicking in and out because, as strange as it is, that’s how he smells now, gathering the molecules in the air that are now filled with bits of wine.  
  
Dean waits until Sam gets to the bottom of the staircase surprisingly unharmed before he starts twisting himself around Sam’s legs, wishing he still had a hand so he could punch his brother in the jaw for leaving him behind.  
  
“Where’d you go?” Dean hisses when he’s made it to the top of his freakishly large brother. “Were you able to sssummon a god? Did you find a way to fixxx me?”  
  
Sam laughs and manages not to trip over the couch, his long legs sidestepping it just in time before sliding himself over the side of the arm rest and crashing into the cushions.  
  
Dean lets out a very undignified yelp at being trapped between the couch and his brother. He drags himself higher, sliding his long body around Sam’s waist. Sam shifts a little in discomfort but doesn’t try to pry Dean off like last time, which Dean appreciates. After testing out every possible alternative, Dean's found that Sam really is the best tree-substitute in the bunker. He's also the best heat source, which only makes Dean want to wrap himself tighter, although he tries to resist the urge since Sam probably still needs to breathe.  
  
Sam seems to have forgotten all of Dean’s questions, has lounged himself back into the cushions like he doesn’t ever plan on getting up again, so Dean nips him in the shoulder, successfully causing Sam to hiss at the sharp prick and move his attention back to Dean.  
  
“Ssso what’sss the verdict?” Dean demands. “Am I gonna be a real boy again sssoon?”  
  
“Uhh…” Sam squints blearily at his brother. “Maybe. I,uh, managed to get the attention of Dionysus.”  
  
“Yeah? What’sss he the god of?”  
  
Sam grins, dimples popping out in full-force as he answers, “Wine. Fuckin’ awesome wine. You woulda loved it. Wouldn’t talk unless we had a drink together and I guess… I guess it was pretty strong. He said I took my liquor pretty good for a human, though.”  
  
Dean snorts, which is fairly difficult to do with a split tongue. “You hold your liquor pretty good for a 12-year old girl. Dionysssusss wasss probably humoring you. Now am I gonna get cured or what?”  
  
Sam giggles – actually fuckin’ giggles like the little girl he is – then tries to push himself off the couch. After Sam’s third failed attempt, Dean decides to unwrap himself from around his brother, giving Sam a better chance at finding his balance. A couple more tries later, Sam finally gets to his feet.  
  
“Yeah,” he says with a bobble-head nod, smiling. “Gonna cure ya. After our tea party.”  
  
*&*  
  
Dean’s not sure how he got here, but he’s definitely not happy about it. He’s got a fuckin’ doll-sized cowboy hat on his head and one of those tiny, delicate china tea cups that little old ladies with blue hair drink from set in front of him. Sam’s sitting across the table, steeping some mixture of herbs in the matching china tea pot.  
  
He has no idea where Sam even found the tea set, but he supposes they’re just lucky his heavily-intoxicated brother hasn’t broken anything yet with his caveman-paw hands.  
  
“You know,” Sam says, only slightly less slurred than he’d been fifteen minutes ago. “You make a real pretty snake. Like, I never knew snakes could be _this_ pretty before, but you have the nicest, shiniest scales, Dean.”  
  
Dean bristles at this, literally hissing at his brother, a hard exhale of air over his tongue that makes his head vibrate in a funny way. Sam blinks in surprise at the sound then laughs, which pisses Dean off even more.  
  
“Sssnakesss are not pretty,” Dean growls out, irritated that his venomous glare is having absolutely no effect on his brother. “They’re fuckin’ terrifying, man! Essspecially pythonsss. Have you ssseen how big they can get? Sssome of them can ssswallow an alligator whole.” Sam doesn’t seem impressed, just opens the lid of the tea pot to check on the contents. Dean pokes the edge of his teacup with his nose and adds, in a slightly louder voice, “Alssso, if you’re gonna make me drink thisss crap the leassst you could do is ssspike it with sssome booze.”  
  
Sam continues to ignore him and picks the tea pot up so he can pour Dean a cup. When Dean’s cup is full, Sam grins and says, “You know, your sssssnakey-form’s still got freckles, Dean. All across your nose.”  
  
Dean goes cross-eyed as he attempts to look at his own ridged nose, which makes Sam laugh so hard he almost falls off his chair. Dean's eyes go back to normal so he can glare at his still-giggling brother, his black tongue shooting out longer than usual before he sucks it back into his jaw and growls out, “Ssshaddup.” He tastes the air for a minute, suspiciously, and asks, “You sssure thisss isss gonna cure me? How do you know that god of wine isssn’t trying to pull a fassst one on usss?”  
  
Sam shrugs, managing to get his fit of giggles under control as he answers. “Hey, I can be convincing when I need to be. Also, I may have, um, promised our participation in a bacchanal ritual he’s organizing. Which, honestly sounds like a typical Friday night for you anyway.”  
  
“And what’sss the cowboy hat for?” Dean asks with a scowl, trying and failing to shake it off. Sam’s grin turns a little sheepish.  
  
“Nothing,” Sam answers, head ducking down as he huffs a short laugh. “I, uh, just found it in a box of doll-clothes the other day. I dunno, maybe one of the Men of Letters had a kid. Or a fetish. Thought it’d be funny to see you wear it.”  
  
Dean hisses something under his breath but sighs and slithers closer to his cup so he can bring his mouth to the tea. After a few tentative slurps with his tongue, he brings his mouth down into the dark brown liquid (which is thankfully not too hot), and opens his jaw to gulp it down.  
  
It only takes a few mouthfuls before he can feel himself changing, the force of it throwing him back into the floor as his body goes through the painful process of snapping bones back into human-form and skin stretching over reorganized sinews and muscles.  
  
When Dean’s completely back to himself, Sam kneels down and throws the dead-guy robe around Dean’s very-naked body.  
  
“You alright?” he asks in concern while Dean catches his breath.  
  
Dean takes a moment to flex his fingers and toes and surreptitiously grope himself, appreciating having all his limbs back in place, and nods. “Yeah,” he answers. “Good as new.”  
  
Sam’s lips twitch into a smile. “Great. Told ya I’d come through.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean answers, tying up the robe and jumping to his feet. “You done good, Sammy. Now let’s get you sobered up and back into bed. And then tomorrow you can explain to me what a bacchanal is.”


End file.
